


Boys

by starbuckys



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, cuteness, kid!Bucky, kid!steve, lol what happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckys/pseuds/starbuckys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Steve and Bucky's relationship throughout their childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for Steve & Bucky as kids I'm sorry what can I say

**1:49 AM**

  
It's the summer break, and Steve, unsurprisingly, has spent most of it with Bucky.

Bucky is already lying awake when he hears the familiar pitter-pattering of tiny feet along the corridor outside his room. He knows what's coming, and at any other time in the day he would be more than a little annoyed. Bucky's a big boy now, bigger than Steve, though the thunder still scares him too. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to pretend to be annoyed anyway.

The door squeaks open, and a tiny six-year-old with a mop of blond hair and large, doe eyes peers in.

"Bucky?"

A huff and a sleepy murmur meets Steve in reply. "Go _sleep_ , Steve."

The murmur is only half-faked, as Bucky really is very tired and he really, really hates thunder.

"Scared."

"Of what?" Bucky huffs, pulling his blanket over with him as he rolls over on his side to face Steve. He knows what.

"Thunder. I tried praying to the lightening man like Miss said, but it ain't going away, Buck." Steve pauses, wiping his nose on his pajama sleeve. "And I'm cold."

Bucky peers around his covers at the tiny boy shuffling his feet. It's the middle of summer, damn it; no aspect of life can possibly be described as 'cold' in these months. Steve likes to play the baby sometimes and Bucky damn well knows it.

"Miss is a weird old lady who doesn't believe in God," he mutters. "And where's your socks, Stevie?"

"Lost them."

Both flinch as another crack of lightening splits the sky in half, briefly illuminating the darkened room before another tempest booms in the distance, ringing in their ears. A tingly, electric feel hangs in the air, enough to make the hairs on their arms stand up on end. Steve's eyes widen and lock with his friends'.

"Quick! _Quick_!" Bucky holds up the covers and frantically motions for Steve to jump in; he's all too eager, scrambling into the bed and pulling over the covers. Steve was right - he's freezing.

"You're _cold,_ " Bucky whines; the smaller child responds only by shuffling in closer and pressing his shivery hands on Bucky's face, who squirms away; giggling in the dark before finally settling down.

They more or less always end up like this, foreheads touching, knees pulled up to chests. Steve still sucks his thumb and in the mornings Bucky prods and pokes and playfully teases him about it but Steve doesn't mind; Bucky doesn't mean it. This is what brothers do.

If the boys in the yard were to hear about this they would most definitely be laughed at it but Bucky doesn't care; Steve is practically family, each other's brother bound not by blood but by love and grass stains and ball games and childish hope. Too young to think about anything but tomorrow's explorations, the future is a distant world that is too far away to affect either. An alien language. They do not know what the future holds.

They do not want to.

"Buck?" His whisper is warm against Bucky's cheek.

"Yeah?"

"You ain't never gonna leave me here alone, right?"

Bucky smiles into the darkness.

"I'm with you til' the end of the line."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky, aged 8.

**1:17 PM**

Steve's never really been one for sports. That more or less always tend to be the case when you're scrawny, asthmatic and about three quarters the size of everyone else your age.  It's a beautiful day, though, for Brooklyn - warm, with slight hints of an icy breeze that is diminishing every day as spring finally begins to manifest itself to the world. 

He's seated under a tall oak tree; dividing his attention between scribbling furiously in his sketchbook with his best colouring pencils, and watching as Bucky and nine other of the friendlier kids in their neighborhood kick a ball around the field. Many of the other boys try in vain to get Steve to join, though he always vehemently declines; much to the relief of Bucky, ("He's _asthmatic,_ jerk") Steve, and the residential nurses alike.

Life, thankfully, has been relatively peaceful. No-one's picked on Steve for at least a month now - a new record, most likely thanks to a surprisingly vicious counter attack by Bucky that involved several broken teeth and at least four ("Buck, I _totally_ had it under control - and did you _have_ to break his nose?") bloody faces. He may be only eight, but you don't mess with James Barnes. There's always at least one punk that takes his chances, though, but it's nothing Bucky can't handle.

Frenzied shouts and gleeful cheering erupts from across the field and Steve glances up; they're playing some kind of game that he doesn't really understand and does not care for either. It looks like Bucky's team is winning, though, as laughing boys cluster around him.  His forehead is beginning to redden in the blaring sun despite his tanned skin, and Steve makes a mental note to get Bucky into shade before it gets any worse.

He never gets the chance, though; Bucky's already beaten him to it as he jogs across the field making his way over to Steve, flushed and grinning.

"Steve!"

"Mmmh?"

"You okay there?"

"Uh - huh." He doesn't mind watching from the sidelines - he's alone, but he's not lonely. There's a simple, comforting kind of tranquility that comes with controlled loneliness.

"Sure? What you drawing?" Bucky asks, and flops down next to Steve with a contented sigh.

Sidling away so that Bucky can't stick his nose into the contents of his notebook, Steve buries his face back into his drawing and resumes his colouring. 

"Not finished." He's been drawing Bucky.

"Can I do some?"

"Uh, sure. Here." Handing him a sheet of paper ripped from the back of his notebook, Steve shoots a shocked, slightly incredulous look at his friend (Bucky? _Drawing?_ ) and lays out his colouring pencils on the grass beside him, so they can share.

"It’s nice to see you're expanding your talents."

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about."

They sit in silence, and several minutes pass as they work. Bucky's tongue pokes out when he's concentrating, and Steve holds the book slightly too close to his eyes than what might be deemed healthy. He occasionally sneaks glances at Bucky over the top of his book, grinning to himself.

"Done." Bucky beams crookedly.

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Bucky faces Steve and grins slyly. "You didn't show me yours."

"Oh _, Buck._ Come _on_." Steve whines, pouting as the average eight year old has a tendency to.

"Show me yours."

"Nope."

"Well then, isn't that a mighty shame."

They glare at each other for several seconds, arms crossed across chests.

Bucky huffs. " _Fine_. You can have it for your birthday."

 

* * *

 

 

**6:44 PM**

It's almost nightfall, and Steve has returned to his bedroom. His pillow rustles as jumps onto the bed, and Steve frowns. There's something poking out from under his pillow, and Steve's more than sure he didn't leave it there.

Beneath the pillow lays a small, grass stained drawing that Steve doesn't recognise as his own. It's slightly crumpled, as if its owner was initially going to throw it away before changing their mind, but otherwise in perfectly good condition.

Two boys, one small and blond, the other taller and dark, stare back at him from the disheveled paper. It's terrible technically, but Steve can't help but feel a pang of warmth in his chest as he looks down at the smiles fixated upon their round, disproportionate faces. Underneath, a message is written in a messy, childish scrawl that is instantly recognisable as Bucky's.

"Happy birthday, Steve!"

His birthday is months away. Steve smiles, shaking his head. 

Jerk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky, aged 10.

**2:20 PM**

"I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

The deafening roars of waves crashing against the coastline resonate everywhere. The sea is especially agitated today. It sneaks up the beach, slithering, rolling, before finally retreating back into the stormy jaws of its greater self. Clouds are few and far between in the sky, although the breeze that has come straight from the sea's mouth itself keeps the hairs on their skin on end. It's also prevented any chance of playing any kind of shore side ball game, but oh well. Steve doesn't like playing ball anyway.

They are seated roughly six meters from the sea's edge. Steve is hunched over with that familiar thoughtful look etched upon his face as he gazes out into the distance, whilst Bucky is outstretched, eyes shut and face tilted towards the sun.

"Wanna get ice cream?"

"You've already had two."

"So?"

"So? You'll get fat."

Bucky snorts, and a grin spreads across his face. "I'll never get fat."

"Already are, jerk."

"Punk."

Steve can be such a goddamn ass when he wants to. They lapse into silence.

"Buck?"

"Mmmm."

"What if they'll separate us?"

Bucky is momentarily dumbstruck. _Not this again_. A lot of difficult stuff often comes out of Steve's mouth but this has to top the lot. And he's been bringing it up a lot recently.

"Say something." Steve glances at his friend, anxious.

"Steve, we're at the beach. Shut up. Don't want to think about it."

Turning away from Bucky, Steve's features rearrange themselves into one of frustration. He's tried, without success, to bring this up with Bucky before. This is _important_ and he's not taking it _seriously_ and sometimes Steve feels like regressing back to his three year old self where it's perfectly acceptable to stamp your feet and cry and have a tantrum but he's ten now and he can't. _Stop being such a baby, Steve_. That's what they'll say.

Back in their neighborhood, they're inseparable and everyone knows it; but recently, Steve's overheard his parents talking about moving out of town. Such talks that have been rapidly increasing in frequency these past few weeks. He's half convinced that their parents have arranged this trip to the seaside just so they can forge some reasonably joyful memories together for the last time, if they're never to see each other again.

Restlessness and agitation suddenly flood Steve. He needs to stretch his legs anyway; jumping up, he brushes sand off the back of his legs and stretches, before taking the first few steps away from Bucky and towards the sea's abyss.

Steve's at the water's edge, the sea lapping against his ankles when Bucky decides to join him quietly.

"Sorry," He mutters. He hates seeing Steve upset. "You wanna, uh, go play or something?"

Bucky ducks his head and stares down, swirling the water at his feet absentmindedly. A piece of seaweed wraps itself around his foot and he grimaces, detaching it. He hates seaweed.

Steve, however, hastily dashes several meters away from Bucky before kicking the largest wave of water his skinny legs can possibly manage towards his friend. He succeeds in soaking his shorts and splattering his shirt, and Bucky, overcome with shock, glares through his mop of newly damped hair.

"What was _that_ for?" Bucky demands angrily. Steve retreats, laughing - only to trip backwards over an embedded rock.

Arms flying, legs trying to vain to prevent him from falling, and his mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise; the scene, from Bucky's perspective, is comical. For a small boy he makes quite a splash as he impacts the water. Steve isn't the best swimmer but they're not in deep; as he scrambles up, finally finding his feet, his appearance resembles one of a drowned rat. Soaked clothes cling to his body, accentuating the slightness of his frame.

Bucky is in stiches. Clutching at his stomach, he can barely breathe with his chest beginning to tighten (is this what asthma feels like?) and tears streaming down his face. He's not so much laughing as wheezing and gasping uncontrollably.

It takes a few minutes for Bucky to regain his composure, but the sight of Steve soaking wet is enough to set him off again.

"Steve - Steve, I can't breathe-" he gasps, as Steve shoots death glares at him. He aims another kick of sea water at Bucky, who retaliates, almost succeeding in knocking Steve down again.

Continuing in a similar vein for several minutes, both could not be more soaked if they tried. Seaweed has attached itself to Steve's hair and he's also pretty sure he's spotted a crab on Bucky at some point.

Both are cold and sodden - but Steve can't remember being this happy in months.

They collapse on the sand in fits of giggles. The wind has died down, allowing the full force of the sun's warmth to dry out their soaked clothes and bodies.

"We'd still see each other at school. Right?"

Bucky groans, lying back on the sand. "You’re not going anywhere." He rolls onto his side to face Steve, smiling crookedly. "Not gonna let you."

"Mmmm. I'm not going to let me, either." Diverting his gaze from the sky to Bucky, Steve's face turns thoughtful, but it's Bucky who interjects.

"You won't leave me, right? Or forget about me?"

" _Buck-_ "

"Say it."

"I'm with you til' the end of the line. You know that."

Bucky turns his face back towards the sky.

"And I you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is turning increasingly angsty I'm sorry


End file.
